SURREAL is a constant state of being when you live with a chronic disease.
You are in a surreal state of numbness, waiting for the next test / imaging results. Trying to convince yourself you are not worried. Holding your breath while you pretend to breathe.
It is sensorally surreal, the incessant barrage of cancer commercials & tag lines: "changing the face of cancer" "changing the history of cancer" "cancer has a new enemy."
It is incomprehensibly surreal watching pink walkers chanting "Fight, fight, fight" when all I really I want to do is LIVE...LIVE...LIVE.
It is ragingly surreal wondering daily, what does this pain mean; what does that ache indicate.
You are in a protective surreal bubble, convincing yourself that you actually do not mind the bruised veins. That in some grotesque way they are a badge of honor.
It is glaringly surreal being so acutely aware of those moments when you actually feel good, because those moments seem to arrive less often.
It is the epitome of surreal, being awoken each morning by a pain, by an ache, and making the conscious decision that regardless, "it is time to make the donuts," and you are the one that has to do the making.
You are in a surreal state of numbness, waiting for the next test / imaging results. Trying to convince yourself you are not worried. Holding your breath while you pretend to breathe.
It is sensorally surreal, the incessant barrage of cancer commercials & tag lines: "changing the face of cancer" "changing the history of cancer" "cancer has a new enemy."
It is incomprehensibly surreal watching pink walkers chanting "Fight, fight, fight" when all I really I want to do is LIVE...LIVE...LIVE.
It is ragingly surreal wondering daily, what does this pain mean; what does that ache indicate.
You are in a protective surreal bubble, convincing yourself that you actually do not mind the bruised veins. That in some grotesque way they are a badge of honor.
It is glaringly surreal being so acutely aware of those moments when you actually feel good, because those moments seem to arrive less often.
It is the epitome of surreal, being awoken each morning by a pain, by an ache, and making the conscious decision that regardless, "it is time to make the donuts," and you are the one that has to do the making.
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